July 2nd – 6:09 PM – Washington, DC
Natalia gasped, sucking oxygen, running alongside Sloan as they burst through the row of trees. The telltale sound of an oncoming train made her stumble to a stop.
“Let’s go!” Sloan tugged on her arm. “There isn’t much time.”
“We can’t!” Horrified, Natalia watched the oncoming train. Surely he couldn’t mean to cross now?
“The train will slow them down.” Sloan tugged on her hand again, hauling her toward the tracks. She worried that if she didn’t follow, he’d leave her behind. With a murmured prayer, she followed him, jumping across the tracks seconds before the train sped past, narrowly avoiding being hit. The train let loose with a shrill warning honk, the wind whipping against her back as the train roared past.
“Come on, we gotta move.” She could barely hear him over the noise as Sloan continued to run, heading back toward Langdon Park. Natalia didn’t have energy to waste speaking, but understood Sloan was trying to find a way to lose themselves in the crowd.
The image of Sloan shooting Ethan Wilcox in the leg stayed with her as they slowed down to a walk, mingling with the groups of people, anxious to fit in. What if Sloan had hit the agent in the femoral artery? What if the poor guy bled to death before he could get medical treatment? What if he lost his leg?
What if she were charged as an accomplice in the crime?
Impervious to her consternation, Sloan whistled and waved a hand, flagging down a taxi. With relief, she climbed inside when he held the door for her. “Union Station,” he told the driver.
Why Union Station she had no idea, but she didn’t ask.
The cabbie had the air-conditioning cranked and the air seemed twice as cold against her sweat-dampened skin. She shivered, rubbing her hands along her bare arms.
“I remember Wilcox. He was the one who questioned me the night Josef died. It’s time we go to the police. Tell them what happened,” she murmured to Sloan in a low tone.
“Yeah. There’s a stellar plan.” His whisper didn’t hide his sarcasm. “Because we have such a good reason to think they’ll believe us over the Feds.”
“They might.” She darted a glance at their cab driver who was bobbing his head to static-filled music from the radio. “I heard the local police hate working with FBI agents. Maybe they’ll take our side just for that reason.”
Sloan groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Get real. This isn’t a TV show. Have you forgotten everything I’ve taught you? Don’t trust anyone. And right now that includes the police.”
Maybe he was right. What did she know about this sort of thing? She was a nurse, not a cop. And never before had she been on the run like some common criminal. Never before had people wanted her dead. She fell silent, staring out the window as the taxi driver negotiated the traffic to get to Union Station.
When the taxi slowed to a stop, Sloan pulled cash from his wallet and handed it to the driver. “Thanks.”
They climbed from the taxi. Sloan immediately headed for the train station.
“Wait.” She dug in her heels, tired of following him everywhere like some faithful puppy. “Where are we going?”
“Taking the Metro to where we left our car.” Sloan gave her an impatient glance. “Why?”
“We need to take the letter to Stefan.” Natalia grasped Sloan’s arm. “The letter may help to prove Uncle Alek’s innocence.”
“You need to worry about yourself, not your Uncle Alek. Or have you forgotten how someone’s trying to kill you?” Sloan shook off her hand. “Come on, we’re going to catch the next train.”
She followed him down to the lower level, waiting while he purchased tickets. Going back to the car served her purpose at the moment. They could drive to Stefan’s house easier than taking public transportation.
The height of rush hour had faded, so Sloan was able to sit close beside her. Too close.
“May I see the letter?” she asked.
Reluctantly he pulled it from his pocket and handed it to her. “Will you read it to me?”
“I’ll try. I learned a little Cyrillic with Ivan but not a lot. Some parts are easy, though.” She took the letter and scanned the words. “Sir,” she began, “As I sit here to write this I am still shocked from the news—something. I don’t want to believe you, but I do. I can’t deny the truth and—something.” She shrugged, unable to figure out some of the words then continued, “I will arrange a trip to the States to visit your city within two weeks so we may discuss this matter further.” She glanced at Sloan. “I guess this explains the sudden speaking engagement here in DC.”
Sloan was looking at her oddly. “Is there anything else?”
She turned her attention back to the letter. “I can’t make out everything, but there is information about his travel arrangements and the hotel where he planned to stay.”
“Unbelievable.” Sloan raked his hand through his hair.
“What?” She folded the letter carefully. “You seem upset.” She frowned. “More upset than when you shot that man in the leg. We need to talk about that. What on earth were you thinking? What if that man dies as a result of your reckless behavior? You’ll end up in jail, right next to Uncle Alek.”
Sloan rolled his eyes. “Get over it already. I’m sure Wilcox is fine. This letter is far more important.”
“Yes, to help prove Uncle Alek’s innocence.”
“No. Don’t you see?” Sloan stared at her. “Don’t you get it? This could be used as evidence against your uncle, Natalia. The FBI could twist this letter to prove Nevsky was in fact working for the Solntsevskaya. And frankly? I’m not convinced he’s not.”
July 2nd – 6:38 PM – Washington, DC
“Why would you say such a thing?”
Sloan could tell Natalia was upset but he wasn’t about to sugar-coat the truth.
“Just because they corresponded about some sort of shocking news,” she continued, tucking a strand of her silky blonde hair behind her ear. “It doesn’t mean either of them worked for the Solntsevskaya.”
Sloan sighed. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that your uncle corresponded with Korolev just before he died? You don’t think that the FBI can twist that around to mean whatever they want? Like maybe Nevsky drew Korolev out here just for the sole purpose of killing him?”
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
They fell silent as the train ate up the miles. When their stop came up, he plucked the letter from her hand and tucked it safely in his pocket. “We’re getting off here.”
Natalia nodded, her expression listless as if all the will to fight had drained from her body. Knowing her uncle really could take the fall for this bothered her. Sloan couldn’t blame her for being exhausted, especially since they’d spent hours running around DC without finding the proof they needed. Annoyed at how he wanted to protect her, to keep her cushioned from the truth, he stood and prepared to get off the subway. She followed his lead, her eyes lacking the sparkle and spunk he preferred. He shoved his concern aside, although he hoped his feisty Russian princess would return soon.
“How do you know the van is safe?” Natalia asked, once they’d climbed up from the train station. “That someone hasn’t tampered with it, or rigged some tracking device up to it?”
He glanced at her with admiration. “Hey, now you’re starting to think like a cop. Good job. We don’t know the van is safe. Actually, all I really want to do is to retrieve our stuff, then pick up another car.”
“Pick up another car?” She looked confused. “You mean, like buy another one?”
“No. I mean like steal one.” He led the way toward the spot where he’d left the van, but instead of stopping he purposefully walked past it, checking several of the other cars to see if anyone had done something obvious, like leaving their keys in the ignition. He saw an older model, rather beat-up convertible that had the soft top he could easily cut through. It wouldn’t be the first car he’d hotwired.
“Anyone watching us?” Sloan asked, as he attempted to pry his fingers up underneath the soft top of the convertible and the hard, unforgiving window.
“Not that I can tell.” Natalia sounded anything but certain. Her previous listlessness had vanished, leaving her tense, alert as she stood beside him.
“Good. Keep a sharp eye out. I need a few minutes here.”
Natalia turned her back toward him, as if to protect him from being seen. He winced as he tried to wiggle his hand into the miniscule opening. When that didn’t work, he pulled out his pocket knife and tore a slit in the soft convertible top, just large enough for him to reach the lock. He pulled it up by his fingertips, and then cranked the car door open. Sliding into the seat, he used his knife to break open the casing beneath the steering wheel, quickly pulled out the ignition wires and tested them by touching the red one and the green one together.
The engine roared to life. With a satisfied smile, he disconnected them. “We’re ready. Let’s go.” He turned and strode toward the spot where he’d left the van.
She grasped his arm, her nails biting painfully into his flesh when he approached their car. “Don’t. I’m scared.”
“We’re just grabbing our stuff,” Sloan soothed, heading around to the rear of the vehicle. He hesitated and looked carefully around for any sign of tampering before reaching for the doors. “Stand back.”
“Lord keep us safe,” she whispered.
He echoed her sentiment, despite the way he hadn’t prayed in a very long time. Since his sister’s murder to be exact. He pulled open the doors and felt his heart leap into his throat when he saw a bruised and bloody man lying inside on top of their stuff. The familiar dark hair and skin made his stomach clench painfully. “Jordan?”
“About time you showed up.” Jordan peered up at him from his swollen and bruised face. “I need a ride.”
July 2nd – 7:09 PM – Washington, DC
“Jordan?” Natalia wondered if Sloan was hallucinating. But no, when she stepped closer she saw Jordan sprawled in the back of the cargo van.
“Get him into the convertible,” Sloan ordered, helping Jordan out of the car. He propped him on his feet, but Jordan didn’t look too steady, swaying from side to side like a willow in the wind. “We have to get out of here.”
Since Jordan looked to be in dire need of medical assistance, she didn’t argue, but slipped her arm around Jordan’s lean waist and grabbed onto the waistband of his jeans. “Lean on me.”
Jordan could barely walk and he was a lot heavier than he looked. They’d made it halfway to the convertible when Sloan jogged past them, carrying everything from the van. He opened the convertible door, stashed the duffle, the computer case and the bag of food in the back, then turned back to meet them.
Jordan’s knees buckled and Natalia feared she would have dropped him if not for Sloan’s quick reaction, grabbing Jordan’s arm above the elbow and hauling him upright.
“Come on, buddy. We’re almost there.” With Sloan’s help, they managed to drag Jordan the rest of the way to the car they were about to steal. Strange how stealing a car didn’t bother her a bit now that Jordan’s life was at risk. Not when all their lives counted on transportation.
One look at the cramped back seat made Natalia grimace. “Put him up front. I’ll climb into the back.”
“No, I want him in the back, to keep him out of sight.” Sloan pushed and shoved until Jordan was lying along the back seat. Breathing heavily, he gestured to her. “Get in. We need to get out of here.”
Natalia climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door. As Sloan climbed in and started the car, she turned in her seat to get a better look at Jordan. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”
“Everywhere.” His lips curved in a heartbreaking semblance of a smile. “You’re cute, Natalia. Really cute.” His eyes slid closed.
Sloan hit the gas and she grabbed onto the back of his seat to maintain her balance. “He’s confused, Sloan. I think he must have a head injury.”
“He’s not confused.” Sloan scowled as he glanced at Jordan through his rearview mirror. “You are cute. But I think your nursing skills must be rusty. Can’t you tell when someone has had the snot beat out of him?”
Offended, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Of course I can tell someone beat him up. Durachock, a monkey could tell he’s been beaten up. And that’s exactly why I think he may have a head injury. I happen to know how that feels, remember?”
Ignoring Sloan, she leaned over the front seat to examine Jordan more closely. “Any other injuries I need to know about? Bullet wounds? Knife wounds?”
“No.” Jordan’s eyelids opened a slit. “I think I have a couple of broken ribs, though. My chest hurts like a son of a gun.”
She sucked in a quick breath. Broken ribs were extremely painful, and if his head ached anything like hers had, the poor man had to be in agony. She sat back down in her seat. “We need to make another stop at a drug store.”
“Yeah, okay. Give me a some time, though. I want to get far out of DC.”
“Are we going back to the cabin?” Natalia almost hoped so, because despite what had happened there between her and Sloan, she found herself longing for the peace and quiet of the mountain cabin. So much for being a die-hard city girl.
“No. We have to risk a hotel.” Sloan didn’t look at her. Was he remembering the intimate embrace they’d shared at the cabin too? He slipped the cell phone from his belt loop and tapped it with a finger. “Jordan called me from his cell phone right after he was jumped. There’s no way to know for sure that someone didn’t trace the call. We have to assume the cabin has been compromised.”
“Speaking of which.” Natalia snatched the phone out of his fingers then tossed it out the window, imitating his actions from the other day. “Cell phones have GPS tracking devices on them.”
“Yeah, I know,” Sloan drawled, shooting her a skeptical glance. “I’m pretty sure that phone was clean since Jordan bought it for me, but we’ll pick up another one. I gotta say, Natalia. You’re starting to think like me.”
Was she really? “Scary.”
“Tell me about it.” Sloan switched directions, turning onto New York Avenue heading east, as if they were going back into town.
“What are you doing?” Natalia thought he’d wanted to get out of DC, a sentiment she wholeheartedly shared.
“We need to change directions a bit, to pick a new place to go. I’ve decided on Baltimore.”
She couldn’t exactly follow his logic but at least Baltimore wasn’t too far. “What about the drugstore?”
He shook his head. “Not now. We’ll wait until we hit the city. Once we reach Baltimore, we’ll stop at a drug store, and then find a cheap hotel to spend the night.”
July 2nd – 7:58 PM – Moscow, Russia
“Is everything in place?”
“Yes. The pipeline will blow in the next few minutes while the rest of Moscow sleeps.”
“Good. And the American will be found guilty?”
“Yes. We have arranged for him to be discovered with traces of explosives in his hotel room. His guilt will not be in question.”
“Excellent. I’ll wait to hear the news of the bombing before sending the money.”
There was a heavy silence. “Fine. But if you don’t, I’ll make sure the finger of guilt points directly to you instead of to the American.”
Rage, hot and white slashed deep. How dare he threaten to expose the truth? He didn’t possess the brains to be in charge of this scheme.
“You’ll get the money when the deed is done to my satisfaction and not before.” Setting down the phone without throwing it against the wall was a major accomplishment.
Everything was unfolding according to the grand plan. The Kazakhstan-China oil pipeline would be destroyed, and the crime would be blamed on the Americans. As would the murder of Korolev. The taste of power and control was sweet.
Success was within reach. Nothing could stop them, now.
Except for the woman.
Natalia.